


built for falling

by lastwingedthing



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-25
Updated: 2011-09-25
Packaged: 2017-10-24 00:47:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/256987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastwingedthing/pseuds/lastwingedthing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someday the war ends. Life goes on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	built for falling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [penguinparity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/penguinparity/gifts).



> Written for the Fall Festival gift exchange.

Ray woke up overheated and sweaty, tangled in a knot of damp sheets. Red-tinted light came through the blanket hanging across the open window; it was getting on for midday now, close and stiflingly hot. Not even the blanket moved, no breath of wind in this warren of buildings.

Outside was the usual noise, children playing football down the alleyway and a clamour of engines and combustion-driven vehicles; but in here everything was silent and still, too quiet. Not even the fan was moving.

Ray rolled over and cursed. Third time already the power had gone out this month; his landlord, the greedy fucker, always swore it was her shitty generator, but no doubt she was just making some extra selling the power off to the city grids across the bay. It was summer, after all. God fucking forbid the good citizens ever experience a little humidity.

He debated trying to get back to sleep, but in this heat that was futile. Better to get a few extra hours in at the shop instead. Make a little extra money, maybe, get closer to finding a new place where the landlord believed in giving her tenants what they paid for.

Ray snorted. Yeah, who the fuck was he kidding? Like he’d be able to find anyone else willing to rent to him at all.

Shaking his head at himself, he pulled himself out of bed and into his clothes. At this time of day the public bathhouse down the road was almost deserted, just a few old women minding their grandchildren down at the far end. Ray paid extra for a ten-minute shower and luxuriated, eyes closed and head tilted back into the lukewarm water. Cheap relief, but he’d take it.

Breakfast, eaten propped up on a bench on the shady side of the building, was a can of lukewarm sickly pop and a couple cigarettes. Ray smoked slowly, watching little transports and the occasional interplanet liner take off from Port Mountain half a mile away. Down here, downwind, the aftertaste of burning fuel never left your throat.

***

Walt was at the shop already, of course; kid was their daytime guy, the one who could be relied on to smile pretty for kids and little old grandmas, and stay patient no matter how dumb things got. He could be relied on; hell, Walt actually _liked_ doing all of that stuff, said it made him feel good. He was just that kind of guy.

The fact that he rescued puppies and kittens and shot rainbows out of his ass didn’t stop him from giving Ray an insultingly shocked stare when he came in, of course.

“Has the city caught fire, Ray, and I just haven’t noticed? You sleepwalking or something? The hell are you doing here, it’s not even midday yet.”

Ray rolled his eyes. “Yeah, fuck off, Walt. Just because I’m not a chipper cheerful chipmunk rising with the dawn like you, you don’t need to be a dick about it.” He glanced around the shop. “Hey homes, is Brad around? I was meant to be starting on that sweet little skybike with him tonight.”

The corner of Walt’s mouth lifted. “Nah, Ray. He’s out on a job with Poke, won’t be back for a couple hours at least.” The little smirk got wider. “I’ll tell him you missed him, though.”

Ray gave him a narrow side-eyed glare.

“Whatever, homes. We get those parts in for the solar cells yet?”

Walt nodded and pointed a thumb towards the stairs to the back room. Ray took the hint and left.

The little portable units were cheap and nasty, but they were easy enough to throw together. Ray could usually make two or three in an hour. Didn’t earn them much, but it was better than nothing. And the air was cooler, down here in the basement with a fan blowing steady and strong on the back of his neck. After a while he switched the radio on and sang along, off-tune and out-of-key and not giving a single shit about it.

When Ray started warbling along in a cracked falsetto to all the high parts, Walt opened the door to shout down the stairs at him for disturbing the customers. Ray just grinned and sang even louder.

***

Around three he stood up and stretched, looking with some satisfaction at the row of units on the table in front of him. Almost a dozen, all tested; yeah, he was awesome.

Singing again under his breath, he wandered back into the front room, ignoring Walt’s glare. The shop was empty anyway, just Walt and the litter of half-repaired mechanicals and the faded posters hanging on the walls.

Or – nearly empty. Ray turned around whip-fast, catching some faint sound right at the edge of his hearing.

Brad was standing in the corner of the room, eyes fixed on a wave oven Ray had tried and failed to fix last week, doing his best impersonation of a statue.

He was a Colbert, so it was pretty fucking good.

“I think the reason you couldn’t fix this piece of shit is because after ten minutes of listening to the affront to god and humanity you call singing it gave up and died out of sheer despair,” Brad said conversationally, without turning around. He was dressed in a light wifebeater, thin and grease-stained, stretching across his shoulders. Ray’s eyes fell there as if by accident, on the thin cloth and taut muscle.

After a moment he looked away. The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Or maybe it saw your face.”

“My face was scientifically designed for maximum aesthetic appeal,” Brad said loftily, scoffing.

“Pretty sure that was my face, actually. Your face was designed to maximise the number of scared civilians who would shit their pants meeting you on a dark night –”

Brad opened his mouth, but Ray plowed ahead.

“ – and if you bring up what happened to the rest of my model _one more fucking time_ , I swear to God, I will break your fucking flawless face.”

“Yeah, you can _try_ ,” Brad replied, finally turning around. Ray knew it; the fucker was grinning.

From the other side of the room, Walt sighed. “Now that you’ve finished scaring off the customers,” – guiltily, Ray looked over at the door, and saw a narrow-shouldered man turning away, looking disgusted – “can you two do that outside, while you work on the fucking bike?”

“Aw, Walter, but you’ll miss me! What will you do without my face to brighten up your otherwise grim and cheerless working environment?” He wandered closer, slung an arm casually around Walt’s shoulders.

Walt just laughed. “I think I’ll be able to live without it. Get the fuck out of here, Person.”

Ray shrugged peaceably and pulled away. “Whatever, homes. You want some lunch? I am _starving_ , man.”

Walt shook his head. “Yeah, that’s ‘cause lunch was three hours ago. I’m fine.”

Ray turned to look at Brad. “You eaten?”

But Brad was looking away, unsmiling, face turned towards the door.

“Fucking civilians,” he said, quietly, shoulders hunching in.

Ray bit his lip. “You think they don’t already know what we are before they even walk in that door? Fuck ‘em. If they can’t see past –”

Walt broke in. “Your fucking face?”

Ray threw back his head and laughed. “Yeah, exactly.” Even Brad was grinning now. He grabbed Brad’s arm, yanked him forward. “C’mon, you fucking oversized oversensitive flower, we got work to do.”

They walked outside together, into the heat.

***

Lunch came from Sarla’s stall round the corner, rolls stuffed full of onions and sticky meat. It was scorching outside, air still thick and heavy with humidity, the kind of afternoon to make you stare up at the sky and pray for the monsoon.

Coming back they passed one of Fick’s people, stationed motionless on a street corner in a three-piece suit. Ray felt like heatstroke just _looking_ at her. He couldn’t understand how she could possibly bear it, dressed like that in this weather; which of course meant that she probably had climate control built right into the clothes. Fick always demanded the best, in his things and in his people. Ray guessed that crime really did pay.

She smiled at Ray as they passed her, measuring out just the right amount of friendly unthreatening politeness, but then her gaze flicked to Brad. Her smile turned more guarded, colder.

She recognised him. Everyone in the fucking world recognised him. Everyone had seen that face before.

Ray turned to look at Brad, couldn’t help himself. A muscle was twitching in Brad’s jaw as he clenched it. That was all.

It was getting late, by the time they finally make it back to get started on the bike. Walt was gone already; Poke was up in the front room, ready to deal with the coming night. Poke was sarcastic where Walt was friendly and affable, but that was alright. Better him up there than any of the rest of them. Ray didn’t play well in company, and Brad was – Brad.

Poke also didn’t give a shit about music during working hours. Ray tuned the radio onto the cheesiest love song he could find and hammed it up, kept it going until Brad finally cracked and started to sing along.

They caterwauled along together for three songs, Ray smiling, Brad grinning right back at him. A good night after all.

***

“You ever wonder if there’s gonna be another war?” Brad said, abruptly. They were deep in the engine block now, quiet, concentrating. Ray nearly fried them both by twitching and shorting the connection he was working on – nearly.

They built him too well to make mistakes like that.

“Nah,” Ray said, keeping his voice light. “I’m done with that.”

Brad snorted. “You mean, they’re done with you? You and your entire production line.”

Ray sent a hurt look his way. “Seriously, homes. Fuck off about that shit. You’re hurting my delicate little feelings, Colbert. I thought you cared.”

Brad smiled in a quick upwards flick of his mouth, but didn’t take the bait. “I just…” he paused, sighing in a gust of warm breath Ray could just barely feel against the side of his face. He tried not to shiver. “I just… don’t you ever miss it?”

Ray reared back. “Do I miss – Jesus fucking _Christ_ , Brad. Do I _miss_ it? Are you _insane_? We’ve finally gotten out of that bullshit, the shit we’ve been wading through our entire lives, and now you’re asking me if I _miss_ being disposable, being a fucking cog in the machine, no fucking lives beyond what we were built for – ”

Ray trailed off, sputtering.

“You sound like fucking Poke,” Brad said, mildly. “Don’t go all weak and political on me now, Person.”

Ray snorted. “I’ve always fucking been political. It’s just that normally I’m funny, so that the rest of you dumb patriotic grunts don’t notice.” He sighed, looking over at Brad. The fine crinkled lines at the corners of his eyes, his funny little crooked smile, the way those huge hands moved so careful and assured over their work. “The fuck’s up, Brad. Finally started to realise it’s a come-down fixing broken shit for pocket change? Miss being the killer million-dollar robot of the future?”

 _Thought you were done with all that_ , Ray doesn’t say.

Brad shrugged. “Sometimes I do miss it. I was – we had a _purpose_. Gets lonely, sometimes.” He smiled, shot a sideways glance Ray’s way. “I miss seeing my beautiful face around all the time. Yours is an affront to my flawless optics.”

Ray almost choked with laughing. “You fucking arrogant bastard – yeah, of course you do. Of fucking course. You’re a fucking Colbert.”

Brad grinned a little. “They’re the only ones who’ve ever truly understood me,” he said, loftily.

Ray shook his head. “I still don’t understand how you could stand it. It was okay for me, and for Walt, he was the only Walter in our platoon. But guys like you, and Poke… how could you even do it, being around yourself all the time like that? How did you even stand it?”

Ray tried to keep it out of his voice, the weirdness. Back in the beginning, at the start of the war – back then, Colberts were just _Colberts_ , those arrogant terrifying bastards who kept to themselves until someone needed a miracle. Even Brad had just been _their_ Colbert.

So strange to get out of the war, to get away from the doppelgangers and find out that Brad was his own person after all.

And sometimes, even now, Ray looked at him and a Colbert was all that he could see.

Brad just shook his head slowly at him, still smiling. “I guess you just don’t get it, do you? Walt doesn’t either, not really. How it felt… you never had to be alone, not ever.”

Ray grimaced. “Is that what you want? You want to go back, go looking for some of the others who didn’t go into voluntary standby?”

“Not really. That’s done now, I know that.” Brad shrugged, still looking Ray’s way. “The rest of it, though – don’t you miss that? The missions? It’s what we were made for.”

“What some of us were made for, Brad. Not all of us were built to be superman.” Ray could feel Brad’s gaze on him, steady and clear. “Oh fuck off, you sad bastard,” Ray said finally. “Sometimes I do miss it. You happy?”

“Ecstatic,” Brad said, smiling, and went back to work.

***

It was late by the time they’d finally got everything fixed up enough to start putting the engine back together. Brad didn’t need more than an hour or two of sleep, of course, but even if Ray could go a couple days without it, it didn’t mean that he wanted to.

“Gonna head home soon,” he said, breaking off from the song he’d been whistling. “Will you be all right to finish this?”

“Mmm,” Brad said, head buried in the bike’s innards. Finally he finished whatever he was doing and looked up, pulling his hands out from where they were working. He had a smear of grease on his face, a dark thick line down across one cheek.

“Yeah, alright. You can go home and rest like a little civilian pussy, and I’ll take the extra cash.”

Ray punched him. “Taking unfair advantage of my condition, Brad? You motherfucker.”

“Technically speaking, Ray, none of us ever even _had_ mothers. Your terminology is inexact.”

“And you’re a fucking intellectual homosexual faggot,” Ray offered.

Brad smirked. “Homosexual faggot? That’s redundant, Ray, you’re slipping.”

“I’m fucking tired, is what I am. Fuck you and the superpowers you rode in on.”

Brad laughed.

They worked a couple minutes more, and then Brad finally stood up and stretched. “Think I’m done for the night, actually. We can finish this tomorrow.”

Ray flung down his wrench. “Fuck yeah, okay. I am _done_ , homes. Don’t know what the retarded fucker even did to this poor sad little victim, but I don’t give a shit! Not gonna see it for another twelve hours, and it feels fucking _great_.”

Poke had gone home hours ago, and the shopfront was dark and quiet. Ray stopped to stretch just outside the door, revelling in the pleasantly mild warmth after the heat of the day. He cracked his neck and tilted his head back, searching past the heavy haze for any hint of a star.

“Remember the campaign on Babylon,” he said, quietly. “The first one, in winter. The desert out there… I’ve never seen anything like it. All those stars.”

Brad nodded slowly, but he seemed almost distracted. “Yeah, I do.” He paused; his voice got lower, husky and quiet. “Do you remember the second campaign? That night up on the pass?”

Ray froze. “Brad – ”

“Because I remember it,” Brad said, relentlessly. “Listen, I want to ask you something, Ray.”

Ray knew where this was going. Of course he fucking knew.

He remembered – the heat of the day there, not this humid clinging heat but the brutal heat of a desert that hit you over and over with a force like a blow. And then the nights, those long icy desert nights with no light nor any hope of it, and –

– one night he and Brad had sheltered together in a cleft in the rocks, hidden and secret –

– Brad’s hands had been so cold, but only at first.

“Course I fucking remember,” he said, quieter than ever. Yeah, he knew where this was going. “Ask me.”

Brad’s eyes were still fixed on his face. “Ray,” he said again, rough and so warm. “We’re not in the military anymore. I’m not in charge of you any more.”

“Yeah,” Ray said, and finally he was smiling. He hadn’t known, until this moment, that he was ready to say yes.

Brad had moved closer to him, somehow, looming only inches away. Close enough to pull down into a kiss.

They broke apart finally, breathing hard. Somehow Brad had backed him against a wall, pushing his body warm and hard against Ray’s. Somehow Ray was already panting, gasping for breath.

“Come home with me tonight?” Brad asked him, hoarsely.

Memory and fantasy blurred in Ray’s head. _These_ hands, _this_ body, moving against his own. Brad’s mouth between his legs, Brad’s fingers pushing bruises into his skin. That half-remembered cry Brad made when he came.

Ray smiled.

“I think you already know the answer to that.”

Brad kissed him again, slick and wet. “You always this easy?” he whispered, against Ray’s mouth.

“Only for you,” Ray replied, like a promise.

***

Ray woke up overheated and sweaty, tangled in a damp knot of sheets and limbs. The room was unfamiliar, shafts of brilliant sunlight coming in through a skylight far above, and too warm.

Ray woke up smiling, and no longer alone.


End file.
